


Kansatsuryoku

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: The Last Samurai (2003), Unbroken (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Caning, Consensual Non-Consent, Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Military, Military Ranks, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught overseas in an unnamed camp, Captain Nathan Algren navigates his way through only to end up on the warden's bad side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kansatsuryoku

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE.

_Eyes cast downward, he knelt obediently, his knees against the floor as the balls of his feet supported his spine and seat, his bruised palms lay before the front of his knees while above lingered his esteemed warden, below the thin curtain of his eyelashes, he followed in anticipation as the neat boots clicked with a shine brought from a prisoner’s sweat, saliva, oil and tears, he knew he awaited his commanding officer’s confrontations for since they had met hours prior – neither found respect for the other, they were inevitable as being said they were firm, as if simply by saying Captain Algren would be bruised, and bruise he would beneath his tattered uniform. He had sat for hours seemingly aging his spine as his knees locked into place and fused by bodily concrete, yet he dared not move, he had imagined that Captain Katsumoto was no more a man than a beast born in uniform, but he had only known Captain Katsumoto for only a few hours, from when the shadows leaned westward to now when the sun stood at the apex squatting his shadow beneath his form, he watched their silhouettes, his own sitting lower than half of Captain Katsumoto’s full height, and yet still, alit both by the same sun in the same room, they were of equal height and stature._

_Even so, he knew that the next words himself and Captain Katsumoto were to share would determine his fate as a prisoner of war; he had mistaken that being of the same military rank as Captain Moritsugu Katsumoto would ensure him of speaking as an unofficial negotiator if not as an equal. He witnessed the men eating from small reserves of flawed rice, whether the rice was undercooked, burned, rotten, infested with insect larvae, or coming from unsuitable crop; he shrank away from the barn-like barracks as he was to inspect the property – there were planks roughly knee-high off the floor all hammered together as if it were a platform, simple woven mats beneath a sheet were the only signs of bedding other than rough wool coverlets and flattened pillows; the walls were without insulation, and being near the sea, Captain Algren assumed that the cold was a predictable outcome of their situation. Otherwise, he kept to himself the praises of hygiene practiced in the camp – he found no lice on the men, no overgrowth of beard or hair, each had a schedule to bathe at least four times a week, yet he could not find within him the voice of commendation, which nagged at him with an itch at the back of his throat, at the tip of his tongue, a tingling in his lips as each word struggled for freedom._

_“Allowing you to live shows my prisoners that I am weak as their warden,” Captain Katsumoto stated, unmoving from the grey-tinged light of day from the window, Captain Algren bit the inside of his lower lip in remembrance of his all-too direct approach to his warden – still, Captain Katsumoto spoke softly, as if he were merely scolding a child, “Am I unfit to be a man?”_

_“No, sir. Sorry, sir,” Captain Algren quickly answered, his voice ground out the instant he felt the bamboo cane’s tip prod a particularly tender welt upon his shoulder blade, a place where he was struck for looking directly at Captain Katsumoto, and thusly abandoning the position of submission in front of the entire prison institution, his hands tightened into fists as he struggled for breath through the blossom of white-hot pain._

_“Am I unable to run this camp?” Captain Katsumoto asked, his tone again sure yet gentle, that Captain Algren could hardly accept the steady dose of agony inflicted upon him._

_Not answering quick enough, the cane snapped on his back, a touch mercifully lower yet still crossing on the old welt and agitating the reddish-black bruise, he lurched forward with a grunt upon his balled fists, “No, sir-!”_

_Captain Katsumoto paced around his shaking body, those perfectly shining boots became clear for only a moment before once more another slap from the cane forced his breath out of his lungs, he heard the even voice ask, “Or does defying Japan’s will hold more appeal?”_

_"I am not here to defy Japan’s will,” he nearly gasped out as the air in his lungs came back in a heavy rush, he blinked away tears of pain before they could stain his cheeks; just then remembering the torn uniforms of the soldiers and the hollow bodies of the populace, he said, “The prisoners need more food, more provisions, warmth, and clothing."_

_“Of course not, and Why would you, Captain Algren?” the same tone seemed like a man speaking down to a gnat, again hearing his own voice torn from his throat as another hot stripe of bruises was lain on his back, Captain Algren sucked in his breath and grit his teeth painfully tight to the next blow dealt upon the lower half of his spine, “You’re here upsetting My authority in the guise of altruistic emasculation.”_

_“That was never my intention, Captain Katsumoto,” he spoke quickly through his trembling lips, his chattering teeth stringing his words together into a hurried jumble as a sharp hot lick from the unforgiving bamboo rod struck across his back, which forced Captain Algren to bend forward slightly and spoil his posture of respectful defeat, a tear slipped from his eyelashes as he gasped from the heaviness in his throat, “I did not mean for strong opposition against my proposals.”_

_“You speak very reasonably for a prisoner of war-” Captain Katsumoto’s voice seemed as unreal as the throbbing sting coursing through Captain Algren’s body, he felt the uncomfortable tickle of his uniform sticking to the darkening swells of damaged skin, all the tears he had previously kept from running suddenly evaporated at the next few words his warden made clear, “-and so I shall make a proposal of my own:”_

_Unable to help himself of a conscience-clearing bargain, his body refused to nod for his sore muscles and the crisscross of blackening bruises on his back, he gulped and grabbed at the first chance that he could of saving as many Allied soldiers as he could, “Yes, sir.”_

_“If a prisoner has done wrong-”_

The noontime sun shone clearly through the thickening fog on the horizon of the sea, Captain Algren had alas took his first stumbling steps out of the office he had only known by it’s polished floors and embroidered chair cushions, a sweet saltiness in the air tinged with smoke rolled in from the north and passed over the high wooden fences, nerve-wracking shocks of agony whipped through his spine as he shakily rolled his foot forward, the camp was lively but lacking the good-natured jibing of soldiers during leisure while a Japanese folk song played on a barrack’s porch. Eyes took in his partially-swelled face, some approached only to be warned off by an Allied officer whispering ‘careful that one…brave but stupid…might get us killed’, finding himself in a dishonorable position and first impression, Captain Algren only nodded in their direction before passing and getting himself to mess hall if there ever was a building, and before he could shy away from the empty bodies of able men loitering about the open prisoner’s barracks, he heard shouting, angry accusations as it seemed, he looked upon the void faces downcast and attempting at ignoring the English pleas –

 _“-will you subjugate yourself for his beating?”_

– Captain Algren stepped forth, catching sight of his warden offside in a state of strict observance, as if anticipating his next move, wondering if he would live up to their agreement, entertaining the idea of his cowardice and possibly even already labeling him a weakling. The shouting continued as Captain Katsumoto held his stare, unblinking, devoid of any pity save for the tiniest motion of an eyebrow raise, no longer could he stand by and watch as one of Katsumoto’s soldiers shouted and threatened a prisoner, his legs made of lead and jelly, he marched over, feeling that he would soon regret his decision of agreeing to Katsumoto’s terms, yet the drive of saving a life from the wrath of Captain Katsumoto was enough incentive. 

_“Yes, sir.”_

He pushed the soldier out of the way of their reach, at first caught off guard by the head-spinning fist connecting to his jaw, he put up his arms to fend off other blows, dull thuds of fists on his arms and the back of his head were easy enough to ignore just not the foot that knocked the wind from his chest; sprawled on the ground, he crumbled beneath the ongoing onslaught of fists and legs raining down on his body, succumbing to the pain, he curled up into a ball waiting for the men to either grow tired of beating him or to be called off by their superior, none too easily was he helped up by a group of soldiers moments later after his body throbbed as badly as his back. 

_“If a prisoner is weary-_

Beneath sunken stomachs and half-dead eyes lay a half-dead man with a spirit of a fading fire; Captain Algren saw as much with his eyes closed in his memories of a failed bay invasion, he watched his friends die and turn the tides red with their own blood, their cries sharp like a gunshot next to his ear, their faces frozen and sightless to the hostile forces which took their life, only the burn of whiskey and high of morphine he had stolen on occasion numbed him through the slaughter, the unending back-and-forth of bullets and bombs. The prison itself was a different kind of back-and-fourth altogether, and already within his first few hours Captain Algren had figured it out: they were nothing but a group of stumbling punching bags while Captain Katsumoto’s men were the ones’ dishing the blows, even then, anything was better than what he heard was taking place up north in German-occupied territory – everything felt false and imaginary the more he listened to British yeomen, French legionnaires, Australian troopers and American GIs of growing tales too fantastical to be true. Having missed breakfast, he meandered behind the group of four prisoners as they marched along seaside to a boat located beyond the island’s jagged rock surface, they waited as the small boat drew close until they were each handed a bag of supplies which was roughly more than half their weight; each shouldered the weight as they began the long trek back to the camp until one soldier took a wrong step on the uneven ground. 

_“-will you take on his burden?”_

Those dark, assessing eyes shot to him, challenging him to ignore the man’s disbelieving grunts of pain; after asking if the injured soldier could stand on his own, Captain Algren took the man up over his shoulders as his body protested, even giving out for a second against the coursing slaps of the pulsing bruises lain like lattice underneath his uniform, with a determined heave of his shoulders he arose hissing and spitting his breath, his arms loaded with both bags and his eyes trained on his warden’s. The others made quick work of hauling the sacks at gunpoint, yet stood near the gates for Captain Algren and the injured soldier; every step up the steep rocky beach felt as if he were walking on razors, he forced himself to not drop neither the bags nor the soldier on his back, his bones creaked as his muscles screamed in torment, even then, he sensed Captain Katsumoto’s gaze upon him, weighing his arms down and bending his back until he crawled on his knees. A trail of blood and stray grains of rice marked his way up the hillside, the teasing whisper of wind whipped against the welts on his back where the injured soldier lay clinging to his form, he pressed onward, onward, ignoring the insistent burn of his empty stomach, at the gate awaited Captain Katsumoto and the small company of prisoners which he had shared the task with, while his warden turned away, the company lifted his load and took him back to the barracks where there was little more comfort than the humid cold of the camp. 

_“If a prisoner is bare-”_

Inside the barracks lay a thick film of salty dew, everything smelled strongly of the sea, especially the wood itself; he awoke against his better judgment to the sounds of whispering, he knew by the rate of the sounds said and the gradually rising tone that he was amongst those privy to doing something which he would later bear, still, it was better a mercy than feeling nothing at all alike the cold stillness of death. Opening his eyes, the group looked up, but resumed their scheming as if they thought nothing of him, what he found instead was that they trusted him more than the sellout americans whom abandoned their patriotism for propaganda – all in all, he was touched by the notion as they migrated to his bunk and pushed him unto his side, each retrieving a cold cloth and pressing the cloths against the numerous welts on his back, some peeling away the scraped skin on his hands and cleaning the shallow cuts layered upon his knees – all the while speaking of escape plans. Too few ideas and too many obstacles for eithers’ comfort, they reverted to instead asking him of their Captain Katsumoto, of how he thought of their tidy hole in the ground, of the rationed rice and bread they were given, of the normal workload and chores assigned to them – none which held an interest to Captain Algren, he instead told them of his home in Florida, the warm beaches which never change and the overwork one might suffer from having fun rather than actual labor; the men loved his story more, save for the nasty cough one had from wearing just a jumble of shredded rags. 

_“-will you strip the clothes from your back and garb him in your clothing?”_

The poor soul of a boy no older than eighteen shivered uselessly beside the men tending to Captain Algren’s wounds, he felt the strongest pull of pity knot inside his guts, with little debate and knowing nods, his uniform was slowly peeled away from his body, article by article, each slowly stripped from him until he lay in only his undershirt and boxers beneath the thin woolen blanket, he lay motionless while the boy donned his clothing gratefully, promising that they would trade at the end of the week when they were able to get sewing supplies, he only managed a quiet ‘sure’ as the young soldier tucked away the rags and meandered over to their group whom were still dressing Captain Algren’s wounds. Long ago, during the journey up the rocky hillside, he lost sensation everywhere beneath his skin, his body felt as if it were a still-thinking husk of himself, the only thing reminding him of his still-living state was the constant throb of the bruises on his back, each swell of blackened flesh seeming as if to thrum hotly against his bones, making him wonder if there was anything beyond pain and suffering at the hands of their warden, he flinched at each word uttered in Japanese – no words other than ‘gaijin’. He mulled over the heavily-spat word’s meaning, were they being called ‘Bastards’? Did it mean ‘American’? ‘Brit’? ‘Frenchman’? Aussie’? ‘Friend’? ‘Enemy’? ‘Soldier’? Civilian’? ‘Man’? Nothing made sense, he never thought that he would need to learn Japanese as badly as German or Italian, he figured after falling asleep in an Allied compound that stories of torture were only the stuff of American propaganda. 

_“If a prisoner is hungry-”_

He awoke the next few hours later, they were herded out to the yard at the front of Captain Katsumoto’s office right after a thin sprinkling of rain, the humid morning air saturated his clothes easily, making his cotton underwear and woolen socks stick to his skin, the only reprieve came in the small blessing of his boots and identification tags, each reminding him that he was able to stand and perform as a sturdy prisoner, he only waited patiently beneath the gradually-worsening rain, the drops falling harder, thicker and colder the longer they stood in the early chill. An uncertain fear gripped the men, each fighting against their own will to cower from the icy rain piercing their skin with frigid bolts, he stood grateful of each numbing sheet of rain on his bruises and savoring the breath he took out in the open air, though behind high walls, anything was better than the depressing gloom of their uninsulated barracks, anything was better than being sapped of life except the constant fear of death, no man in his right mind fathomed the terror of not being able to open their eyes. Captain Algren lost all sense of time in the fall of rain, the dressing on his knees soaked through with blood as did those wrapped on his hands, the fresh wound bled dissolved clots, and even so, he felt only the phantom pain of the men standing tentatively still, their bodies as taut as wire and unwilling to succumb to the weakness of hunger, contemplating the pull of gravity and seduction of failure – he stayed upright upon his shaking legs and unsteady feet as they were finally acknowledged after barracks inspection, each were then given a handful of rice under careful watch and marched back into the damp cover of their prisoner’s quarters. 

_“-will you regurgitate the food from your own belly to fill his?”_

Two men whom had no teeth and many scars lay side by side in the furthest area likely reserved for the injured, no one could understand the words of the toothless men but knew it was their duty to share a rotational meal, yet communicated through Morse code when told, they were a pair of men whom looked as if they once harnessed the power of ten men and laughed as easily as children, all they became were but worn memories of summer sweethearts and battle-hardened soldiers, Captain Algren found both men helpless and shuffled over with his handful of rice in hand. He tapped out a greeting by knocking on the plank of their bedside, sightless, scarred eyes found him and stared past, both answered with open mouths layered by numerous different scar tissue and a few rotten spikes of teeth; he took a seat between the pair, he drank nearly a gallon of water, he chewed the rice into a type of paste before scraping the mixture from his tongue and gently sliding the watery rice-meal over an outstretched tongue, the pair chewed gratefully and whimpered against the soothing movement over their gums. Below the unsure feeling of regret, he winced against the tug centered on his heart, he was sorry for all the men surrounding him but he knew he could not help them all, he could not save them all or even have his words heard, the heavy sensation of helplessness dropped deeply in the pit of his stomach as he fought against swallowing the rice all to himself, even if the prisoners and himself were on the same side, he understood his position beneath their boots if he so much as thought of robbing the two blind men of their meal, and yet, he could not stamp out the will to survive. 

_“If a prisoner has trespassed of high treason-” Captain Katsumoto again began pacing before Captain Algren, he sat unable to keep himself from anticipating the next blow, sweat ran down his face and arms as he fought to keep his position, “-will you put yourself in his place and take your own life as punishment?”_

_“No, sir,” he hoarsely answered, the next blow dealt made him feel as if the skin of his back exploded, he groaned rolling up into a ball and grunted sharply through the next successions of hard swats, the bamboo cane strayed from his back and continued downwards along the backs of his thighs, his calves and twice to the back of his head, blood erupted from his mouth and nose as he shouted, “I will not, sir-!”_

_“Why not?” the question held the same bite as the cane on his skin, he crumbled beneath the onslaught of pain intertwined about his exposed limbs, teeth locked together and his body knotted into a tense ball, the blows came down harder, faster as his muffled shouts of pain matched the harsh snap of the bamboo cane._

_“What good is my life to me if I can give it over to You instead, Captain-?” his voice ragged from hollering caused a raw itch to form inside his throat, he swallowed the congealed blood pooled beneath his tongue as he again sensed Captain Katsumoto’s eyes burning into his head, he continued after the blows subsided and alas halted, “You can do with my life whatever you please, I only request that the men be treated better.”_

_Upon one knee, he watched Captain Katsumoto tilt his head aside until they could clearly see each other’s faces, he could tell by the tiny sudden intake of breath from his warden that he was garish, maybe even repulsive from the beating, one side of his face had swollen as did his lip from being bitten to keep from screaming, he suppressed the angry shiver of his limbs beneath his warden’s gaze, yet was taken aback by the untouched whisper emanating from Captain Katsumoto, “Get well and clean yourself for tomorrow night. I will come for you.”_

The weight of the promise was more than Captain Algren could bear, he sat up on the cot, his limbs tangled within the blanket, his heart beating outside of his chest and his sore hands gripping at the edge of the bedding planks, having an unknown amount of time before he was to be needed, he did some much-needed reflecting on the unmoving Captain Katsumoto – was the man a husband? Possibly, a father? Of how many children? If so, was he a kind father whom spoiled his children or a strict pitiless man whom happened to have children? What of a woman? Did he have a sweetheart? A fiancée? A wife? Did he treat her with respect? Indifference? Love? Did he make sure she knew that she was cherished? There were too many unanswered questions which had made him soon forget their agreement, occupied by the mystery surrounding Captain Katsumoto, he barely heard the an officer enter through the locked doors, flinched against the touch upon his shoulder or the quiet order ‘stand’, as if on stilts, he pulled himself from the bedding and arose into the cold humid air surrounding the encampment and creeping through his few clothes, he marched along the soggy ground between two officers, he pulled the blanket tighter about himself as the office loomed before him like the shadow of merciful Death. The escorts left him at the doorway where Captain Katsumoto was visible, sitting before a gas heater and sipping from a tiny white cup still in full officer’s dress – Captain Algren unlaced his boots at the front door, leaving his boots and socks in a heap just as he had done two days ago when confronted by his warden, he stepped through the threshold, drawing down the cloth shutters as he closed the door behind himself, he let out a breath after seeing no cane in sight. 

“Did you provide for your prisoners?” came his warden’s question, he only nodded beneath the gaze which passed to him, “Did you bathe?”

Nodding once more, he shuffled nervously on the polished floor with his eyes cast down, another question came, “Have you eaten?” 

“No, sir,” he answered, the floorboards creaked in a telltale sign that his warden stood, the same rhythmic click of the boots paced forward to the area he occupied, a hand brushed a stray strand behind his ear, just the simplest gesture made a heat rise in his face, burning away all the previous numbness he held and replaced the deadened sensations. 

“You’ve kept your word?” Captain Katsumoto asked quietly, he closed his eyes against the feel of feather-like fingers whispering beneath his chin, he had long forgotten how gentle people could be if they had everything going their way, and only then did he dare a glance at the warden, he could only see the handsome outline of a chin and shadow of slightly-smiling lips, the strangeness overwhelmed him. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered shakily, containing all his wonder behind the cover of his lowered eyes and rigid posture. 

“Will you keep your word, Captain Algren?” the calm voice asked, his throat managed only a gulp as he nodded, with a foreign mildness a palm brushed at his exposed shoulder as his fists loosened from the blanket, dropping the cover away, he could only wonder and wait for keeping his end of the agreement to the last hour of morning.

**Author's Note:**

> i thought that i would Never do a military-kink fic ever again...


End file.
